


Bliss

by GemmaRose



Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Established Relationship, Groping, M/M, Mech Preg (Transformers), Mentioned Megatron/Optimus Prime - Freeform, Morning Sex, PnP Sex Toys, Possessive Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing, Telepathy, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Soundwave is a busy mech, but the demands of a carrying frame do not care how vital he is to the continued smooth functioning of Cybertron.
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave (Transformers)
Series: Kinktober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947760
Comments: 1
Kudos: 67





	Bliss

Of all the Deepticons, Soundwave was fairly certain he was the only one who had carried before the war. He had also been certain that he would not carry again, perfectly content with the cassettes he already had. And then the Quintessons had arrived, putting the war on pause, and the Autobots had shared that endless supply of energon the humans provided them with so everyone could do their part in repelling their ancient enemies. The alliance of necessity had turned into a truce, had turned into true peace, and suddenly everyone was back on Cybertron, their planet spacebridged over to orbit Earth’s sun some 90 degrees offset from the human planet’s location, its orbit carefully controlled so they would never collide.

And then, _and then_ , Soundwave had been viciously reminded that the only thing suppressing his sparkling protocols for the majority of the war hadn’t been any kind of preventative technology but simple stress and fuel deprivation. Which led to today, when he found himself heavy with his first sparkling in well over a million years even without counting the extended stasis on the Ark, waking hot and wet needy in a berth he shared with a mech who had so recently been his enemy.

He groaned, and buried his face in one of the pillows Prowl had gifted them when the news got out that Soundwave was expecting. Not _today_. He had things to do today!

“That time already, huh?” Jazz asked, rubbing gently at the small of Soundwave’s back, his touch welcome but unfortunately not as soothing as Soundwave would have liked.

“Timing: inconvenient.” he grumbled into the pillow, trusting Jazz’s finely tuned audio receptors to pick up his words regardless. “Soundwave: required at meeting today.”

“We can always call out.” Jazz said, coaxing Soundwave into turning to lie on his back. The weight of his forge pressed uncomfortably on the rest of his internals in this position, but it did have the benefit of letting Jazz settle between his legs and rub the aching derma of his abdomen with just the right amount of pressure.

“Megatron: irrational, in regards to Starscream.” he reminded Jazz. The ex-saboteur had known better than most Autobots just how disorderly Decepticon High Command was during the war, and yet he routinely forgot that their interpersonal problems hadn’t been solved in the least by the shift from wartime to peacetime. Well, save for the tension between their leaders. Apparently battlefield chemistry translated to berth compatibility. He’d not seen Megatron this relaxed in, well, ever.

Not that it helped one bit when Starscream was involved.

“Ah, right. _that_ meeting.” Jazz grimaced. “If I get that really nice false spike the twins gave us, do you think you can manage an hour?”

Soundwave hummed tunelessly, running the proposition through his probability module. “Suggestion: has potential. Soundwave: will require code-sating interface before and after.”

“I can do that.” Jazz grinned, leaning over Soundwave to nuzzle against his mask. “Do you want some now, or would you like fuel first?”

Rather than answer, Soundwave kicked a leg up and hooked it over Jazz’s shoulder.

“Fragging it is.” Jazz laughed, and slid his wonderful hands down to hold Soundwave’s hips, squeezing gently before moving one to finger his valve. It wasn’t long at all before he was satisfied, and a moment later Soundwave was blessedly full, his valve clamping tight on Jazz’s familiar spike, every little ridge pressing deliciously on his sensitive nodes and making him whine as charge gathered in his core.

He know that it was partly the carrier coding at work, ancient programming that demanded he get as much transfluid in his tank as possible before the protometal developing within stopped integrating CNA and started shaping itself into a frame suiting the newspark currently in orbit around his own spark, but also? Jazz was Primus-damn _good _in the berth. Soundwave had asked Jazz to sire his sparkling because he knew they shared a mutual respect and admiration, and also because he’d known Jazz could be trusted to actually stick around through the carriage. He was of Staniz, after all, and before the war Staniz had boasted a culture which elegantly balanced freedom of choice in partners and loyalty to a carrying mech.__

____

____

“Mmm, feelin’ _good_ , doll.” Jazz hummed, fragging him at a rhythm which was quick enough to build his charge towards overload but not so fast as to actively drive him there. “Say, do you want just the false spike, or should I grab a vibe for ya?”

“Soundwave: will require maximum stimulation.” he managed to choke out, trailing off in a moan as Jazz found an angle that hit what felt like every single node on the aft half of his valve lining.

“So _two_ vibes, got it.” Jazz grinned, cocky as ever, and thrust as deep as he could get before overloading. Soundwave moaned, garbled with static, as charged transfluid washed over his inner nodes and was sucked into his forge. And then Jazz pulled out, leaving him still fragging charged up.

Soundwave kicked out, but between his charged-up jelly struts and Jazz’s own speed his pede missed completely. “Be right back, doll.” Jazz beamed, slipping away to fetch their box of toys. Soundwave made a rude gesture at his back, and turned himself onto his side, grabbing one of the firmer pillows to tuck between his legs. It wasn’t as satisfying as Jazz’s spike, or a proper toy, or even his own fingers, but it sent the strongest message to his foolish Autobot. That he had failed to satisfy Soundwave badly enough a _pillow_ was a preferable partner.

“So dramatic.” Jazz chuckled, climbing back on the berth with the box of their toys. “You said maximum stimulation, right?”

Soundwave nodded, propping himself up on his elbow to watch as Jazz looked over his options. “Jazz: has fifteen minutes before departure for meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jazz pulled out Soundwave’s favoured false spike, and Soundwave let the pillow be removed from between his legs, obligingly hiking one up to give Jazz space to work the false spike into him. It was smaller than Jazz’s own spike, but the construction of the base meant that it could shift inside Soundwave without risk of sliding out, which made it nice for discrete public use. Jazz slid it in and secured it quickly, and then pulled out Soundwave’s favourite of all their interface aids. A human would’ve likened them to wireless connection dongles, which, while an inherently silly word, was not entirely incorrect. Jazz plugged one into his ventral port, over his spark, and hummed consideringly as he turned the other over in his hand.

“I think, I’d like to put this in your neck port.” he said softly. “And then cover it with that pretty little collar. Remind everyone just whose sparkling you’re carrying.” he palmed over Soundwave’s belly, caressing the insulating protometal which smoothed the bulge of his very full gestation tank into a curve which a statistical majority of mechs found incredibly attractive, a helpful trick of the same coding which left him craving interface at the last possible chance to get good strong CNA into his sparkling. After all, a carrier with such a need had to be appealing to potential sires.

When it wasn’t making his life more difficult, Soundwave found a measure of elegance in the construction of carriage-related code, ancient but so very efficient.

“Soundwave?” Jazz brought him back to the present, and tapped gently on the back of his neck, silently asking permission. Soundwave tucked his chin against his collar fairing, and opened the port cover. The plug clicked into place easily, and Soundwave could feel immediately that its charge was only at half capacity. They shouldn’t need it long enough to run it down though, and it was a rather spur-of-the-moment use so it would be silly to expect Jazz to have it charged and ready.

“Testing.” Jazz warned him, and Soundwave moaned as the simple receiver in the plug blipped, sending a burst of raw charge straight into his sensornet.

“Plug: operational.” he confirmed, and Jazz hummed as he slid the cover back into place, buckling the collar in place over it. Soundwave’s modesty panel was a lost cause, but that was easy enough to conceal. “Soundwave: requires cleaning.” he reminded Jazz, who nodded and rose from their berth.

“I’ll grab some rags and solvent. You pick out a skirt.”

Soundwave pushed himself upright, biting back a moan as the false spike shifted in his valve, and grabbed the wall to help pull himself up onto his pedes. He’d never been so large at the apex of a carriage, not even with the twins. He wasn’t sure if that meant this sparkling wasn’t a cassette, or if it had to do with the fact that he was better fueled this time around than ever before, but regardless, it was a nuisance. His legs shook slightly as he walked over to the closet which held what Autobot Carly had called “robot maternity wear”, lubricant dribbling down his thighs as his gait caused the false spike to shift inside him with every step. Primus, he was glad his spike was inactive by this point in the carriage, because there would be absolutely no hiding his aroused state if it was operational.

Soundwave leaned heavily on the wall when he reached the closet, and looked inside with a critical optic. His modesty skirts from previous carriages were all either black or a nice blue which matched his plating, deep colours which didn’t show damp easily, which was rather the point of a carrier’s modesty skirt. He picked none of them, instead reaching for the skirt given to him by one of Jazz’s friends earlier in this carriage, white with a mimicry of Jazz’s chestplate printed on the front.

“Rowr!” Jazz growled playfully, sliding up against his back and sending him a surge of charge through the plug in his neck. “Going all out today, huh?”

“Jazz: wants every mech to remember sparkling’s sire.” he touched the collar around his neck, a strip of brilliant white against his grey cabling, an Autobot symbol stamped in red over Soundwave’s intake. “Soundwave: is assisting in this endeavour.”

“Frag, I love it when you play along.” Jazz purred, dropping a kiss on Soundwave’s neck before he dropped to his knees. “Now hold still doll, let me clean you up and we’ll get that skirt on you.”

Soundwave leaned on the wall a little more, sticking his aft out so his valve was right in Jazz’s face, and was rewarded with another pulse of charge from the plug. “Plug activation: counterproductive.” he pointed out as Jazz briskly wiped lubricant from his legs.

“Sorry, can’t help it.” Jazz chuckled, working quickly and efficiently to clean Soundwave up. Not for the first time, Soundwave was glad that their legs were both white, minimizing visible paint transfers. “Gonna eat you out, after the meeting.” he promised, pressing the rag to Soundwave’s valve to catch the lubricant which dripped out at Jazz’s words. “Alright, now be good while I get this on.” he said sternly, rising to take the skirt from Soundwave’s hands.

By some miracle of willpower and Jazz’s quick, steady hands, Soundwave managed not to drip lubricant on the exterior part of his skirt, though he did shiver a bit as the primary absorbent panel settled against his unprotected array. White was a gamble, as modesty coverings went, especially when they were playing a game of concealment as they were today. Soundwave had no doubt he’d be coming home with the skirt utterly soaked through, but hopefully he could at least last out the meeting itself without staining the visible parts.

“Good thing we live walking distance from work, huh?” Jazz quipped as he straightened up, caressing Soundwave’s hips, running this thumbs along the upper hem of his skirt. “Think you can take it?”

Soundwave straightened up, and his legs almost went out from under him as the false spike shifted in his valve. He stumbled back a step, and sagged gratefully against Jazz’s steady frame, the plug in the back of his neck buzzing gently, a live feed of Jazz’s charge levels. “Soundwave and Jazz: will be late to meeting.” he said after a long moment, and Jazz laughed.

\---

They were, unsurprisingly, late to the meeting. Jazz had to carry Soundwave in, every strut and servo from his hips down turned to jelly by the overloads Jazz had expertly wrung from him in the scant handful of blocks between their habsuite and the new government building. “Sorry we’re late.” Jazz announced brightly, depositing Soundwave in his chair and dropping a kiss on top of his helm before moving to his spot at Prowl’s side, more or less opposite the table from Soundwave.

“You haven’t missed anything.” Starscream huffed, which was precisely what Soundwave had expected.

“We’ve been trying to decide where to focus for the next major infrastructure project.” Optimus Prime said helpfully. “The options so far are street paving, development of equitable housing in factory cities, and-”

“Supporting the advancement of Cybertronian science.” Starscream interrupted. Ah, yes, Soundwave remembered this argument now. Starscream wanted an academy he could lord over until such a time as the reconstruction of Vos was feasible, Megatron wanted to see Tarn and Kaon rebuilt sans slums, and Optimus wanted- well, Optimus wanted properly driveable roads, which Soundwave thought was a rather important prerequisite for anything else. How were mechs supposed to get anywhere outside of the city center to effectively rebuild if all the roads were still bombed-out strips of rubble?

But of course, siding with Optimus from the get-go would only make Megatron and Starscream dig in their heels further, which was why he had to be here in the first place. Shockwave was too busy with his private enterprises to actually attend these meetings, even if Magnus hadn’t been inclined to kick him out for blatant conflicts of interest, which left it up to Soundwave to convince one of his superiors that Optimus was, as usual, the sane mech among them.

It would be a while yet until he had an opening to speak though, Megatron and Starscream were already getting into a fresh shouting match. And Jazz had either developed telepathic powers of his own when Soundwave wasn’t looking, or he’d come to the same conclusion, because Soundwave felt charge shiver down his backstrut as Jazz flashed him a positively sinful smile.

Soundwave leaned his elbows on the table, and shifted his hips in a tight circle, minute contractions of his hip flexors to sway his torso just enough to ramp his own charge up. He had to shut down his EM projectors entirely to avoid broadcasting his lust to the whole room, but Jazz could feel his charge via the port plugs, and Jazz was the only one who mattered in this regard.

::Prowl totally knows what we’re doing.:: Jazz commed him, interjecting in Optimus’s favour a moment later, further riling Megatron and Starscream. ::He’s radiating disapproval like Rodders radiates heat.::

Rodders...? Ah, right, Hot Rod. Soundwave leaned back in his seat, glad that the majority of mechs in this room couldn’t read his expressions through the facemask and visor. Megatron and Jazz could, of course, but Optimus Prowl and Starscream could only guess. And badly, at that. Soundwave crossed his legs, his muted field allowing him to project a perfect calm even as the shift made the false spike in his valve press _hard_ against his valve mesh. Jazz’s leg jumped, and Prowl shot him a glare, his doorwings hiked up in a high, angry V. Soundwave really, _really_ did not have the processing power to give a flying frag what the Autobot SIC thought of him right now.

Starscream finished his rant and crossed his arms, smugness writ large in every line of his face and frame. One benefit to having worked with these boltbrains for five million years and change, he didn’t even have to be paying attention to poke holes in Starscream’s arguments anymore. “Query.” he said smoothly, uncrossing his legs and sitting up straight, keeping his visor trained on Starscream and decidedly not allowing it to flicker, even as the false spike rolled in his valve, sending charge coursing through him. “Starscream: has consulted with Autobot scientists on staffing of an academy?”

Starscream’s plating fluffed out, wings flaring to make himself appear larger, and Soundwave could easily imagine that in a human cartoon he would be pouring steam from his audials with an angry whistle right now. “An excellent question, Soundwave.” Optimus smiled at him. Soundwave crossed his legs the other way, reveling in how Jazz’s hand on the table clenched into a fist and Prowl shot him a poisonous glare. He had another few minutes now before Megatron got a single word in edgewise, and he could profess support for his Lord’s plan while prompting Starscream to side with Optimus out of spite.

::I can practically feel you plotting.:: Jazz smirked, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. ::Primus, you’re so sexy when you’re brilliant.::

::Soundwave: has not experienced fluctuations in intelligence since awaking on Earth.:: he reminded Jazz pointedly. Jazz rolled his optics, and prodded Prowl to interject something biting into the argument between Megatron Starscream and Optimus. A moment later his charge spiked high enough that Jazz had to mute his vocaliser, and only millions of years worth of practiced self-control kept him from slumping over the table as he overloaded, though his fans did snap to their highest setting, which drew curious optics to him. He cycled a deep ventilation, mastered himself, and re-engaged his EM projectors, unfurling his field with a heavy tinge of contrite embarrassment over the unavoidable simmering arousal.

“Soundwave: experiencing... carriage-related sensitivity.“ he said carefully. Prowl’s doorwings jerked in a motion remarkably like a Vosnian wingspeak phrase which, given Starscream’s usage, Soundwave took to mean ‘go frag yourself’. For a moment he sincerely wished he had kibble of his own which was expressive enough to reply that he would if he could, but Jazz would have to do in the meantime. The look on Prowl’s face would have been incredible.

“Ah. I am... very sorry to hear that, Soundwave.” Prime said diplomatically. “Jazz can escort you back to your habsuite, if you wish. I understand it is rather late in your carriage, to be attending such matters as these.”

“Soundwave: can concentrate well enough.” he assured the Prime. “Megatron, Starscream: require skilled mediation.”

“I would take offense to that if you weren’t so damn good at it.” Megatron huffed, and Jazz laughed even as his charge shot down Soundwave’s backstrut like a lightning bolt.

“When the Decepticon in the room with the most processing power is the one two thirds of the way through a carriage, you know the other two are these bozos.” he joked, grinning at Prowl and jabbing a thumb at Megatron and Starscream. Prowl facepalmed. Soundwave simply slumped over and let his faceplate his the table at full speed. The clang of impact was still lost under Megatron and Starscream’s indignant yelling, and he deliberately clenched his valve calipers as he shifted his hips to send a surge of charge over to Jazz, who must be only barely holding it together since he’d gotten the backlash of Soundwave’s overload without tipping over himself.

“Sorry, sorry.” Jazz laughed, and Soundwave caught the tension in it. “Prime, I’ll give you a few to get everyone calmed down, yeah?”

“That seems wise, yes.” Optimus sighed heavily, and Soundwave waiting for Jazz to rise to his pedes before pushing himself up off the table, swiveling his hips as he straightened. Jazz stumbled, but only slightly. Next time, Soundwave was putting this false spike in _his_ valve. The way Jazz practically danced around, it would certainly be something to watch. 

Soundwave leaned forward again once Jazz was out the door, propping his chin on his hand in a show of boredom as he swiveled his hips, rippling his calipers along the length of the false spike as it shifted within him. Jazz’s overload made his fans kick on again for a moment, and Prowl scowled at him like he knew exactly what was going on. Given how observant the Autobot SIC was, there was a not-inconsiderable chance that was the case. Soundwave resolved to send the mech an apology gift later, these meetings were torturous enough without having to sit there brimming with secondhand charge. Soundwave would know, being a telepath around Starscream’s trinemates had been an exercise in patience much of the time.

Jazz slipped back in shortly after Optimus got the meeting back on track, his thighs conspicuously shiny, and Soundwave smirked at him as he leaned further forward, driving the tip of the false spike against his anterior lining so hard the nodes under it _ached_. Jazz sat down heavier than usual, and Prowl made another rude gesture with his doorwings. Jazz just smiled, and gave Soundwave two quick pings over comms to invite direct telepathic interaction. Soundwave frowned slightly, glanced at Megatron, and cast his mind over to Jazz’s to see what his lover was thinking of.

_Soundwave pressed chest-first against a wall, one leg hiked up to the side, Jazz’s spike driving desperately into his valve, Jazz’s denta sunk into his neck hard enough to dent. Jazz bending him over the conference table, taking him in full view of both sets of command staff. Jazz pressed up against him, spike out and grinding against his aft, one hand splayed over his badge and the other groping shamelessly at his array through the layers of his skirt._

Soundwave slumped face-first to the table with a weak moan, fans spinning up to a roar again. Optimus and Megatron politely ignored it, but he could feel Starscream’s spike of irritation. Like he’d never derailed a command meeting during the war by trying to climb into Megatron’s lap. Honestly, at least Soundwave had the decency to _attempt_ to be discrete.

Megatron finished his argument, and Soundwave opted not to risk sitting up, instead turning his helm to look at his Lord at the far end of the table. “Soundwave: supports Lord Megatron’s proposal.” he managed to get out, though his vocaliser was embarrassingly thick with static. “Suggestion: repair major road to target city, for ease of material and labour transport.”

“An excellent idea, Soundwave.” Starscream said quickly. “Except, funding roadways was _Prime’s_ proposal, not Lord Megatron’s.”

“Starscream, be lenient with him.” Optimus scolded. “Soundwave is operating at a reduced capacity, you should be thankful he’s here at all. We would not be able to pass anything without his vote.”

“He has a point, too.” Megatron said, which was a concession Soundwave hadn’t expected. Perhaps having Prime as a berthwarmer was softening his Lord in unexpected ways. “The first step of rebuilding any city, be is Tarn or Kaon or even Vos, is to secure stable supply lines.”

“So we are agreed?” Optimus asked hopefully.

“All but Starscream, I believe.” Megatron nodded.

“I’ll agree.” Starscream snapped, slamming his hands flat on the table. “So long as one of the roads we repair goes to Vos, so that when we have funds to allocate to my academy it can be built _there_.”

“All in favour of announcing road repair as our next major infrastructure project?” Prime asked, and six hands went up.

“Wonderful.” Prowl said drily. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go bleach my brain module.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Starscream sniffed.

“It’s a human expression, Screamer.” Jazz drawled. “Means he wishes he could forget this whole meeting.”

“Jazz, _please_.” Optimus sighed heavily. Jazz raised his hands in surrender, and flowed smoothly to his pedes, circling the table as Megatron and Starscrem filed out of the room, arguing again about something Soundwave couldn’t bring himself to care about.

“C’mon, doll.” he murmured, running a hand down and back up Soundwave’s back, stopping with his fingers resting lightly on his collar. “Let’s get you taken care of.” Jazz helped him to his pedes, and Soundwave leaned back against him with a barely-vocalized whimper. Optimus smiled warmly at them, and Soundwave got an impression of fond approval before the Prime bid them both farewell and turned to leave. The second his back was turned, Jazz’s hand was down over Soundwave’s array, pressing the front panel of his skirt up between his legs, rubbing his valve through two layers of fabric.

“Primus, you’re so wet.” Jazz moaned in his audial, and really it should be illegal for a mech’s voice to sound so damn pornographic. “The back of your skirt is totally soaked.”

Soundwave rocked his hips back against Jazz’s, grinding his aft against his lover’s panel, and Jazz’s shiver at the bolt of charge his plug provided was almost more gratifying than the soft gasp in Soundwave’s audial and the jolt of Jazz’s hips against his aft. “Frag, Soundwave, I wanna clang you so bad right now.” Jazz whined, trembling against Soundwave’s back as he continued groping Soundwave’s array. “Let anyone who comes in see you spread out so pretty ‘round my spike, see you’re _mine_.”

“Closet.” Soundwave choked out, and Jazz swore as he pulled away, grabbing Soundwave’s hand.

“Closet.” he agreed, and tugged Soundwave forward. They barely made it out of the room before Soundwave was leaning heavily on Jazz again, the two of them propping each other up as Jazz directed them to the nearest closet with what Soundwave hoped was a nice thick door.

The closet in question was barely big enough to even shut the door behind them, and true to his mental promises Jazz shoved Soundwave’s chest against the wall, holding him there with one hand against the back of his shoulders while the other groped at his stomach. Soundwave moaned, arching his back to grind his aft against Jazz, and was rewarded with the hot length of Jazz’s spike pressing up against his cloth-covered array. Jazz’s hand on the back of his shoulders dropped to grab his leg and hike it up, and the one on his belly moved down not to remove his skirt, but to pull the sodden absorbent panel aside.

Jazz disengaged the mechanism which kept the false spike snug in Soundwave’s valve, but then he did something which hadn’t been in the snapshot he showed Soundwave earlier. He thrust his spike in right alongside the false one.

Soundwave jerked violently, his vocaliser shorting out mid-cry, and Jazz growled against the back of his neck as he set a vicious pace. “Frag, Soundwave, love ya so much.” he panted, his charge bleeding down Soundwave’s spinal strut, mingling with Soundwave’s own rapidly approaching overload. “So damn much. Wanna show them all, show them yer _mine_. Gonna rip the hands off anyone tries t’ hurt ya. Tries touchin’ ya without our say-so.”

Soundwave overloaded, and Jazz grabbed at his throat, holding him tight as he kept pounding into Soundwave’s valve, spike scraping over nodes rubbed raw by the toy and pushed into the realm of too-sensitive by his last overload. “Mask off.” Jazz demanded, and Soundwave obeyed without thinking, barely knowing and entirely not caring what noises he made as Jazz kissed him fiercely, biting at Soundwave’s lip until it bled.

“Mine.” Soundwave gasped when Jazz pulled away enough to let him speak, his vocaliser wavering but fully audible. “My mate.”

“Damn right.” Jazz grunted, engine snarling as he drove himself even harder into Soundwave’s valve, making Soundwave whine with discomfort. Thankfully, when he overloaded the carrier code superceded everything else, and Soundwave’s processor swam as he slumped strutless against the wall.

“Next time,” he mumbled, feeling Jazz dig around in his subspace for wet wipes. “You wear the false spike.”

“For you, darlin? Anything.” Jazz promised, and dropped a kiss at the nape of his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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